


Ineffable Confessions

by Oneshotshipper



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale also loves him, Aziraphale is terrible flirt tbh, Basically Crowley pining and stressing the whole time, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, I think God ships it dont @ me, Like he loves Azira so much, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Requited Unrequited Love, Romance, though they're been lovers since the start lets be honest cmon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-15 00:31:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19284400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oneshotshipper/pseuds/Oneshotshipper
Summary: A few weeks after the failed Armageddon, Crowley wants to say the three words more than ever. They almost were destroyed by their superiors, how could it not be the perfect time? But now more than ever, if he loses Aziraphale then he will have no one. Doesn't stop him from it though after a few thousand years of pining. Better late than never, he supposes.





	Ineffable Confessions

**Author's Note:**

> This show has stolen my heart and I'll never do it justice, but I wanted a go at the inevitable love confession between these two dammit.
> 
> EDIT: fixed a few grammatical errors/typos

_One would have thought that after being rejected from both Heaven and Hell alike, it would have been a lonesome, dreadful experience. One in which that you would find yourself wandering the world in exile in an attempt to discover a new purpose. But, for the demon Crowley, it was anything but lonesome. It was in fact, the most whole and fulfilled he’d felt since he’d sauntered vaguely downwards so long ago. With this, however, our demon longed for something more, something he had yearned for so long it felt like an eternity. It was his eternity, and Crowley’s yearning only continued to grow…_

* * *

 

It had been two weeks since they had faced their trials, and two weeks where Crowley was just beginning to let his guard down. Surely, by this point in time, both their _former_ employers would have either been so unnerved by their respective “survival,” that perhaps they would just simply let the two of them be. It was more than he could hope for, and he definitely didn’t believe it would be the last they ever saw of Beelzebub or that _fucking twat_ Gabriel, but for now, there was respite. They had been essentially sacked from the job, no new feeling for Crowley, but for angel, it was another story.

It would have been amusing, had it not been for the obvious anxiety and uncertainty that had come from Aziraphale. He spent most his days as he normally would; among cafes and his shop, busying himself with reading and writing, and his hobbies that sent a feeling of fondness every time the demon watched him smiling as he did them. He was glad, selfishly perhaps, that Aziraphale was away from the company of the other angels, but he still understood that it would take him quite a bit to fully get used to being… more of just an immortal really at this point. Crowley more human than ever.

He felt human. He always had, he felt strongly, and not just because he may or may have not had a small soft spot for the stupid humans and their cars and their soundtracks. He felt human, just speaking in small conversation with Aziraphale, greedily relished the closeness and increased, almost _daily_ contact he had with him. He felt human, when his traitorous eyes, thankfully hidden most of the time in public by his sunglasses, focused on his face, his eyes, his lips. A lot of times his lips; soft and pink, and how much he wanted to press his own to them. How much he wanted to run his hands through his hair and down his soft, lovely, body. Like the time they were sitting for a quick bite to eat one day last week.

* * *

 

“I say, if this is retirement, truly I don’t have much of an issue with it,” Aziraphale commented lightly, eating some scone or biscuit, Crowley wasn’t sure of what it was this time. He himself had been sporting just a cup of coffee, straight black, no sugar. If only to please the angel, who constantly wanted him to try and sample the food with him. There was a smile on his face, as there always was when cuisine was usually involved, and Crowley could not resist flashing one of his in return, filled with unspoken affection. How was he _not_ supposed to look like a bloody idiot when everything Aziraphale did was basically adorable? Demons probably didn’t tend to use that word, but Crowley could think of no more fitting one. _Ugh,_ he thought to himself, _I’ve been lost to you for thousands of years and I’d never change a thing._

And that was true, he didn’t think he’d ever be able to truly tell him. That he loved him beyond all rational; and irrational measures constructed in the universe. He loved him so dearly his human body felt constrictive every time he looked at him. Looking at the stupid, wonderful, charming, clever, angel that had long ago stolen whatever heart he possessed, was like looking at the sun, only he didn’t burn. The only burning came from Crowley himself; his private selfish desires for his friend, and it very well might ruin things forever if he ever summoned the courage to tell the angel of any of them. He felt shame at times; bidding goodbye to Aziraphale’s cheerful self, heading… to what he’d now call his home, his flat that still didn’t feel quite right as a home, and imagine them together. Not only physically, though he couldn’t deny it was featured often, but also of them lacing fingers in the street, or in one of Aziraphale’s upscale restaurants he enjoyed for dinner. Or maybe even… indulging in the human habit of napping. Sleeping. Together, their bodies close in comfort. Trying new things that they hadn’t done before. Anything. _Hell, I need to say something, can’t look all cool and stoic forever,_ he thought, once he realized that he hadn’t yet replied to him.

“Like I said. We can do as we please now. It’s our side,” He reiterated after a moment, forcing a front of casualness, “And their side. Someone’s ought to really look out for the humans anyway,” he said with a shrug as if it did not really matter (it very much did), and he leaned back slightly in the chair.

“I like that idea. Two of the most incompetent celestial beings ever created in the Lord’s image, a protector of humanity,” Aziraphale said with a hint of good-natured teasing, drawing an amused laugh from Crowley. He was too good for him. What was that expression? So out of his league. And Crowley detested baseball. Aziraphale was lovely, pure and so untouchable, _still an angel, a fired one, but an angel nonetheless._ Off-limits, and he always had been. Now, was perhaps even more important to preserve their… friendship. Arrangement, whatever it exactly was, because if he fucked things up now… Crowley would truly have no one left in the universe, and for him, that was so much worse than being content to be Aziraphale’s best friend. He was _honored,_ being his friend, and it would fucking stay that way.

“Speak for yourself, angel,” he teased back, “One of us, if I recall correctly. And by that, I mean me, was always fixing things, saving you, all the above?” He prompted, taking a sip of his coffee.

And he quite nearly spat it back out, when Aziraphale reached across their small table and gave him a friendly pat on his hand, his fingers lingering. “I must admit, you’re quite good at fixing things when you put your mind to it, Crowley,” he said. And truly, if it was anyone else, anyone else literally in the entire word, Crowley would have thought that it sounded near-flirtatious. But all of his one functioning brain cell (he quite liked internet lingo) was currently screaming that Aziraphale was touching him. _Oh Christ,_ he was doing the thing with his eyes. The fluttering of them, the shy sort of look that made him feel wrecked. Was he nervous? Around him still? He tended, much to Crowley’s approval, to become easily flustered and stutter over words, and that was always a treat to witness. But not when it was true worry or fear.

 _You go too fast for me, Crowley._ He didn’t want to have to hear that ever again, and he never wanted Aziraphale to feel pressured or uncomfortable around him. He managed a smile, all while there was no denying the slight heat on his face, and he gently, returned the embrace of their hands, offering a slight squeeze. If he got hit with a face full of holy water tomorrow, he’d die a very happy demon. The Victorian in him urged him to take his hand a press a kiss to it, but that was inappropriate, he reminded himself. “You think they might promote me to guardian demon?” He asked him.

He knew he was doomed to fail the moment Aziraphale finally drew back with a full smile on his face, eyes bright with at least some kind of affection, settling back to resume with his food. “I quite frankly wouldn’t see why guardian angel is out of the picture, my dear.”

Yeah, he was fucked.

* * *

 

And now, as he laid not sulking, but perhaps moping in his flat alone a week later, he was trying to remember what he vowed to himself. He’d keep it to himself and never let him know. Simple. But Aziraphale seemed determined in his own vow to get Crowley to break and randomly shout how much he was in love with him in public or something like it. He’d stopped by his flat finally a few days ago, and proclaimed how mostly empty it felt. _Feels better with you in it._ And he had tried very hard to not fantasize about them all domestic-like, with Aziraphale moving in with him instead of doing whatever the Hell he did in that bookshop. Not that it wasn’t endearing. He could listen to him go on and on for hours about that which he was passionate about. And then, that unbearably amazing bastard had to go and _physically purchase_ a brand new fern plant for him, complete with a few brightly colored lilies once he found out that Crowley had a whole bunch of them himself. Couldn’t just miracle it up, noooooo, he had to make it special and personal to the point where he felt like crying.

_“I know you’re a demon, dear, but have some propriety once in a while! More color, and less black. And stop yelling at your plants! That’s absurd!”_

 “Fuck off and grow faster!” He’d still shout at his various other plants, but in private, closer to where he supposed would now be the living room (and would be if Aziraphale stopped by more often), or his bedroom, he’d keep it. He hadn’t decided yet where he’d place Aziraphale’s plant, where he would speak softly to it, in gentle terms. You know! Just to prove that plants that were yelled at grew more effectively and larger for that matter!

In short, he was an absolute mess of a disaster that could not stop thinking about him, and really never could, and it was driving him mad. He was sitting there, staring at the fern plant, when his stern expression softened, gazing at the bright, verdant greens and the whites of the lilies themselves. “You’re so beautiful,” he muttered to himself though he knew, like the lovestruck fool he was, that he wasn’t completely talking about the flower. It was the middle of day and here he was, starting wistfully at a flower. Suddenly, he groaned in frustration, “You’re killing me, angel.” He spoke to himself. “And to think, you would have barely called yourself my best friend prior to the world almost ending.” It was most certainly unrequited, he knew this, and yet… Every day it became harder and harder to constrain himself. He was a demon for… God’s? Satan’s sake? Whoever it was, he wasn’t exactly the best at resisting temptation, and Aziraphale was his daily temptation. Every day and he so badly wanted to tell him.. he wanted… “I love you so very much,” Crowley said in a soft voice to the plant, gently tracing over its leaves.

The world could have ended, and Aziraphale could have… died. He himself might have died. And he would have never known. They could die tomorrow, and the angel would not know. Not really, actually, but it was the point of it all.

Let it never be said that he didn’t try his damnedest to keep it secret. Two seconds flat, and he was already in his Bentley, sunglasses on to hide the panicked expression in his eyes. _What am I doing?_ He blasted “Crazy Little Thing Called Love,” to somewhat calm his raging nerves and floored it as fast as he possibly could en route to the bookshop.

“Aziraphale!” He shouted, doing his best to keep any nervous tremors out of his voice as he entered the shop, door slamming behind him. _Just say it, it doesn’t have to be eloquent._ If anything, Aziraphale would probably appreciate an honest, straightforward attempt at explaining how he felt.

There was a clatter of something in the back room, an “Oh dear!” And Crowley winced, urging himself to not act like a complete idiot. Aziraphale rounded the corner into the shop, and Crowley could sense the anxiety rolling off of him like it was second-nature. Fear, as well. “What’s happened?!” He asked as he came into view from beyond the shelves. There was a tea stain on his normally-pristine jacket, but he didn’t seem to notice it. Whoops. Strike one. Fuck, again with thinking about the baseball references? Maybe Americans knew more about love than he thought. “Are you alright?” He asked him, his hands wringing together nervously in an apprehensive gesture. “Crowley, are you safe?” The unspoken question, _were they here again?_

“No, no,” he assured, raising his hands to calm him, “Everything is fine, angel. I uh.” He swallowed what felt to be a lump in his throat, but that was near-impossible. “Everything is perfect, actually. Grand.”

Aziraphale was clearly confused by his erratic behavior, titling his head slightly with a questioning look on his face. Honestly, he shouldn’t be surprised by anything Crowley did at this point in time. “Oh. Erm. Alright then,” he replied slowly. He clicked his tongue, noticing the stain and miracled it away right there. He had the adorable audacity to look _sheepish,_ with a forced smile. “I promise, you know I’m not that messy. You’ve startled me and I dropped my cup.”

“Angel. I have to tell you something.” He said in a rush of words, “It’s nothing bad.” He hoped so anyway. It would destroy him if Aziraphale acted with disgust. He would understand why, but it would hurt more than anything ever could. _He’s going to reject it, he’d never love someone like you._ “But it is important.” He felt doing as something as unbecoming as _pacing_ , and so he did, taking a few steps along the shelves, trying to remain collected.

“You have my full attention,” Aziraphale answered with serious sincerity, and Crowley felt the intensity of his stare at the back of his head, as he lightly touched some of the spines of the books that Aziraphale deeply loved.

It was always good to be honesty and he never wanted to lie to him. “I’m not exactly certain as where to start.” He felt hot, more nervous than he had any right to be.

“Patience is a virtue, I can wait however long it takes you,” he replied. God, if patience was a virtue, than Crowley had to be a saint of some sort. Thousands of years of patience and if he was going to do this, he wanted it to be perfect. Crowley spared a glance back at his earnest fact. He smiled at him, “Shall I sit?”

It was likely meant to be a joke, but Crowley replied, “Yeah. Do that.” And Aziraphale blinked slightly in surprise, before the sign on the front door flipped over to ‘closed,’ and he waved his hand, the chair that Crowley recognized to be in the back materializing beside him. He did not say another word, but he kept silent, staring expectantly at Crowley.

When he began, his hands seemed to have a life of their own, picking out a book to nonsensically fiddle with it. He took a breath, even though he didn’t really need to, before he forced himself to speak. “I wanted to hurt him, angel. Gabriel.” Just saying his fucking name out loud was enough to make him pissed off. He hated him, truly hated him, because how could he not? He had actively tried to _kill_ Aziraphale. Him-as-Aziraphale, but he had been _glad_ to do it, and watch the best of them all burn into nothing. How gleeful he had been to see him step in. It had been one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do, by staying in character then. It’s why he hated most of the angels, all of them hypocrites that would harm a truly, truly, good being. He’d known that personally, but seeing it again in that perspective had really cemented it. “When I was you before stepping into hellfire.”

“Oh? I mean … I don’t suppose I can begrudge you of that.” He admitted, “It turns out… perhaps I was just more righteous that the rest of them. I greatly overestimated their morality. I ended up not liking Michael, telling her what to do as well,” he said with a bit of pride in his tone.  He supposed Aziraphale had been thinking a lot about it lately.

“You’re not righteous,” he said immediately, staring at him, hands absentmindedly flipping through the book’s pages. “Not in the bad way,” Crowley clarified, “You’re perfection. Absolute perfection.” _You’re moving too fast again idiot,_ he thought. “But you’re wrong. You should begrudge. I wanted to kill Gabriel. I wanted to pull him into the hellfire with me because I wanted to protect you. I still do." His words were coming quickly now, and he glanced to the pages to avoid having to look at his reaction. He couldn’t.

He could _hear_ the intake of breath from Aziraphale. Surprise? Disgust? Intrigue? “I… Whatever do you mean, Crowley? We protected each other. It is over.” But they both already knew that it probably would never be truly over. Someday they’d figure out that they had been tricked and fooled by whom they thought to be disposable. And the higher ups of angels and demons couldn’t have their pride destroyed, could they?

And Crowley was not sure how it happened, because of course, he wasn’t romantic or anything of the sort, but his eyes passed familiar lines in the book he held. The book he had picked up, of course it would be this one. It seemed like God’s ineffable plan was to just make a gigantic fool out of him. Whether it was deep down romance that possessed him, or some other cause, he read out what he saw and felt with all his heart, throat tight with anticipation. “In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.” He recalled that the famous quotation had been uttered in this particular context out of social inability, frustration, and misunderstanding. He was certain frustrated in himself, in waiting so long to say a word about it, that it was quite fitting.

He waited for any reaction, but the one he received from Aziraphale was not the one he was expecting. The angel leapt from his chair in an expression of delight, hands clasped and a look of pride on his face. What? “Crowley, I knew you enjoyed classic novels!” He exclaimed eagerly, and Crowley slowly looked over at him, wondering when this sick cosmic joke would finally end. “Jane Austen was a fine woman and you’ve quoted it so brilliantly! Wonderfully!” And luckily, Crowley didn’t have to explain, otherwise he might have discorporated on the spot, as understanding slowly dawned on Aziraphale’s face. And then he did gasp, and clasped a hand to his mouth. “You…” he was speechless, “You’re um. Yes. Saying that to me, I assume? I-It’s not a quotation? You’re saying that you…?” He sounded… hopeful? Or maybe it was just him projecting. Who knew?!

It was time. Just say it. He placed the book back, no longer escaping to its pages, back in the exact spot he’d grabbed it from, and approached his angel. He wanted to touch him, to kiss him, to hold him, but he remained a respectful distance away from him, in case Aziraphale did not want close contact. “It issssss how I feel, angel,” he replied, gritting his teeth in frustration at the nervous habit. Sometimes, a snake history didn’t always come in handy. “It was put into words better than anything I could ever do,” he tried to add some humor, but he really wasn’t feeling up to it. This was the most serious moment of his existence. He cast him a pointed look, though he knew Aziraphale couldn’t see it with his glasses. “And you deserve the best. Much better.” He deserved to have the world if he wanted it, though he was more than content with his books. He loved him. He loved him. “I love you,” he said. “Very much. More than anything else ever.” His eyes hurt from the passion. “I loved you… for so long. So long.”

“Crowley…”

“Before you say a word,” he blurted, fearing the worst, stepping closer to him. “I want… nothing more than your friendship. Your company.” Aziraphale gave him a strange look, and if his voice broke, he was going to live in some hole for a century or so to make up for the embarrassment. “The last thing I’d _ever_ want to do is hurt you. Harm you. Never,” he nearly hissed, “And I needed to tell you, otherwise I’d go mad. But… I don’t wish to lose you. You’re so important, you’re my everything. I’m in deep, as far as possible for you, but I’d rather our friendship and your happiness.” He had basically laid out his metaphorical heart on the table, and he was waiting for it to be inevitably crushed in the kindest way possible by the sweetest being to ever grace the earth.

But as he studied him, Aziraphale had gone noticeably silent, and Crowley noticed the wetness in his eyes, horror striking his heart for a brief moment. “No!” Crowley shouted, “I take it back! I don’t wish to upset you!”

When he spoke next, Aziraphale’s voice was filled with relief, humoring affection, and … love. “You silly thing,” he admonished, shaking his head, wiping away the moisture from his eyes with his perfectly _soft_ hands that he wanted to grasp and never let go. “You’ve not upset me, not in the least. You’re lovely,” he said, and laid his arms upon Crowley’s shoulders, stopping that whole one brain cell again. He needed his touch so badly, he felt he might explode without it. “I’ve been trying, you know. You’ve never noticed.”

Crowley blinked, “What?”

“I gave you a plant,” the angel said so innocently, so put-out that whatever plans he had to try and come to terms with whatever feelings for Crowley (feelings!), that it made him choke out a laugh, as Aziraphale’s fingers lightly traced his shoulders. “I tried… what is the word nowadays? Courting? Wooing?”

Crowley really could not believe this was happening. “Flirting, I suppose. But the others work just fine,” he mumbled.

“Ah, yes!” He exclaimed, “Flirting. I tried to when we ate our meals together,” he stated, warmth visible on his pale face. He was embarrassed. How adorable. “It didn’t work, obviously.” He said dryly.

He felt so light, and they had barely even begun talking. He playfully spoke a bit lower “Trying to seduce me, are you? Giving into lust?” Anddd he hoped he hadn’t ruined it. He wasn’t supposed to be moving fast! He hoped he hadn’t been crossing any boundaries, but he couldn’t help it as he lightly traced over his cheek, so in love that it physically hurt.

That one got him however, as Aziraphale noticeable stuttered, “The audacity of you!” He exclaimed, though he didn’t pull away from Crowley’s experimental touch. He ducked his head, slightly shyly, and cheekily said, “Not yet, anyway.”

“Naughty angel,” he chided, and he could be content with just this. Staring into each other’s eyes, half-smile on each of their faces, light chaste touches that just let him _feel._ “But it did work. I love you so,” he repeated. And Crowley couldn’t help himself, “Please,” he whispered, “Tell me, my angel. Please, I have to hear it.” He hoped he didn’t sound desperate as all fuck, but he was just on that edge anyway.

He moved closer, embracing him fully now, and Crowley took the opportunity to wind his arms securely around him, his own face pressing against the angel’s neck, his lips trembling from passion and emotion ,and all sorts that they said demons could never feel. This would destroy him in all the good ways. Though he supposed it was hard for Aziraphale to concentrate fully with his lips pressed so close to his neck. But Crowley had immense self-restraint at the moment, and would not kiss him, without his permission. Not until he wanted to. He could feel the tremble in the angel’s voice, so he supposed he wasn’t all that pathetic. “Oh my dearest,” he said, and Crowley could feel _himself_ trembling. “My darling, my love,” he soothed, “I love you, I’ve dreamt about saying it to you. Hearing it from your lips. I’ve wanted to kiss you, but I’ve been too cowardly to do so.” That would probably be fixed in the near future, and Crowley felt his own shaky smile force its way onto his face. “T-Take those off,” he said after a moment, gesturing to the glasses that he still had on. “I want to see you, dear.”

“I would give you anything,” he whispered, as a vow and an expression. But he pulled back reluctantly (very reluctantly) from their comforting embrace, eyes not moving from Aziraphale’s flushed face. His own probably matched. In one quick movement, he took the sunglasses and tossed them behind his shoulder, not caring at all. He had a bunch in his Bentley anyway.

“Crowley,” he said his name more intimately than he ever had before. “You’re crying, love.”

Shocked at the statement himself, Crowley reached a hand up, and sure enough, there were unshed tears in the corner of his eyes. He would have felt embarrassed, if not for the fact that Aziraphale was not judging him. He felt overwhelmed by it all, so overjoyed, happier than he’d ever felt in his life. “Be mine,” he blurted out, cupping his face, as Aziraphale gently wiped the tears from his eyes. He would die here, he would. There would be no other greater joy in his life than this moment right here. Well. Perhaps anything with Aziraphale would come and tie it. “Let me be yours,” he said, his lips a breath away from his angel’s, waiting.

“Always,” Aziraphale answered without missing a beat, and it was _maddening_ watching his gaze drop to Crowley’s own lips. “For eternity.”

“You’re going to sin with me?” He teased him

“Don’t be silly,” he replied primly, “Love isn’t a sin.”

There was a long silence in which both of them just stared at the other. “Aziraphale…” he mumbled, his own voice sounding reverent.

“Just kiss me already!” He hurriedly exclaimed, and he seemed surprised by his own outburst, swallowing in a visible movement. “I… If we are, I don’t want to assume anything, I just… oh. The way you’re looking at me right now, I thought maybe you’d like to… Well, I certainly would, i-if you think that…”

Crowley was just being a good Samaritan after all. He wouldn’t want Aziraphale to work himself into stress now, would he? His lips crashed against the angel’s with little more hesitation; eagerly, with every pent up desire he’d been holding in since the fucking Garden of Eden. Basically. It had been so long, he wasn’t sure exactly when he’d loved him. It was a constant. They breathed and kissed each other like the world was ending tomorrow, and it felt right, and good. His hands dropping low to his waist, and his angel grabbing wherever he could manage, switching from his shoulders to tangling in his hair. Crowley swallowed every sound, every breath, and greedily stored them for himself, relishing in them, feeling flashes of pure desire and pleasure. Excitingly, he realized they were not only his own.

But he forced himself to slow down, remembering that he really should be more careful, that he should check to make sure Aziraphale was enjoying it. But after the initial press of lips, and as he tried to draw back slightly, Aziraphale was all eager; hands gripping him tightly, pressing close into him, and really, a demon’s self-control only went so far.


End file.
